


Bad Day

by kaleidoscope_eyes (TheGirlInYourMirror)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, certainly not me lmao, i am a british fuck, i dont actually watch spn what is this, i dont know how american things work, idk either, lost property AU, merry christmas to my bro, who knows - Freeform, will i ever write a good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlInYourMirror/pseuds/kaleidoscope_eyes
Summary: This really was just Dean's luck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Stupid drabble I came up with, dedicated to my bro Tyler. Merry Christmas!
> 
> Basically, I have a friend who somehow constantly manages to leave his stuff on the train, and so has had to go to the lost property office at least 6 times now. We started to joke that he secretly loves one of the workers there and so intentionally does it, and then I thought it would make a good AU and this happened.
> 
> I'm not exactly sure what it is.

This really was just Dean's luck. First, he'd woken up late, and had to leave without breakfast, and if he was late again he was going to get yet another lecture from his boss. Then, some girl sitting next to him had spilled foundation on the leg of his new suit, which was proving incredibly difficult to get out. At least nothing could get drastically worse from here, he consoles himself, stepping off the train. There's a hollow sense of something being wrong, but he ignores it, walking away. 

He hears the fast beep, and the click of the doors closing, and suddenly realises what's so wrong. Whipping around just too late, he watches the train gather speed and pull away, his briefcase lying on the floor by his seat. 

Oh, for fucks sake.

 

He calls his boss, explains that he'll be late and why. For once he's surprisingly accepting, probably all that Christmas spirit bullshit. Oh well, if he's off the hook he won't complain. He wonders what exactly what the protocol is for this particular situation. The London Underground is weird. Dean just doesn't get some things about Britain, and this is one of them. So, he finds the help desk, and knocks.

“Hi, how can I help?” A woman appears at the window.

“Uh, hi. I left my case on a train, is there any way to get it back.”

“Where was the train terminating?”

“Aldgate.”

“Ok then, when the train terminates I'll ask them to have a look for it, and the lost property collection point is around Baker Street. Swing by in a few hours, it should be there.”

So he'll have to go to work without his stuff. Great. “Ok, thanks.” He says, walking away. This is shaping up to be a shitty day.

 

Finally, the day's over. Dean just wants his case back, and as fast as possible. He gets off at Baker Street, and finally manages to navigate his way to the collection point. (Why is London so complex?) 

He walks up, and immediately is faced with the bluest fucking eyes he's ever seen.

“Hello sir, can I help you?” He's taken aback by the accent, too. American, which is alien enough in London anyway (he should know with the looks he gets), but how exactly is a voice that deep?

“Uh, I left my briefcase on the train earlier? It's black, leather, silver clasps, has D.W. embroidered in the corner?”

“Yup, we found something like that. Here you go.” Blue eyes hands him the case, and my god he's smiling. Dean might just be ever so slightly smitten at this point. Maybe.

“Thanks loads.”

“It's no problem.”  
Finally, his day is getting a bit better.

Spoke too soon.

As he hurries away, he trips on a crack in the pavement, sending him sprawling across the pavement and his papers flying everywhere.

“Hey there, you ok? And it's blue eyes. Wearing- is that a fucking trench coat? Dean has never met anyone who can pull off a trench coat before. Honestly, it's actually quite impressive.

“Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine.” He responds, wincing slightly.

“Oh, here.” Blue eyes hands him a messy pile of his scattered notes, and together they collect up all the loose sheets, stuffing them back.

“Thanks.” Dean says, getting to his feet, and walking off quickly.

He hears a call of “No problem” from behind him, and resists the urge to turn around.

 

When he gets home at last, Dean mostly just wants to fall asleep. Unfortunately, he has a report to turn in for work. Opening his case, a scrap of paper with unfamiliar writing catches his eye. He sees a phone number, and the name 'Castiel Novak – trenchcoat'.

He chuckles, and then opens his laptop. Maybe losing his case wasn't the end of the world after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify, both Cas and Dean are American, but live in Britain (because I have no idea how American things work).


End file.
